


A Different Kind of Dancing

by ellymango



Category: Ballerina | Leap! (2016)
Genre: Ballet, Bars, Boredom, Disapproving Parents, Gen, Post-Canon, Self Confidence Issues, Teen Friendship, cancan dancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-09
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-05-20 05:25:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14888465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellymango/pseuds/ellymango
Summary: "Your leg is too high.""Your foot isn't turned right.""You have no musicality...""Don't jump there, this isn't the variation where you jump!"You're not this. You lack that. You need to do this. You can't do that.The words made Félicie's head spin on a daily basis. Every day it seemed she found another thing she was bad at, another thing somebody did better than her. Once upon a time she'd been told she had the passion and enthusiasm to become the greatest dancer in Paris, that she'd see her name in lights and have crowds flocking to see her. Now she felt barely noticed at all, as a lowly corps dancer shunned into the shadows. Maybe she'd been lied to. Maybe they were afraid of her connections.Or maybe... ballet just wasn't her calling.





	1. In the Prima's Shadow

**Author's Note:**

> Yanno I watched this movie.... about a year ago and its grip is still stronger than it's ever been. It's crazy how hard this movie hit me tbh, mediocre as it is XD I blame Odette.
> 
> But ANYWAYS here's a long-time in the writing block fic that I've been working on since I can't remember when. Félicie sucks at ballet. That's all you need to know.

_You need to be patient, you’ll get that lead role some day._  
_Dear, you just need to be a bit more patient in this career..._  
_Patience, Félicie, that role won’t just be handed to you..._

Patient. She was being patient. She’d been patient for the past five years. And she was getting tired of waiting for her patience to pay off.

Waiting in the wings as yet another nameless corps girl, Félicie idly tapped the toe of her shoe against the floor, doing her best to ignore the lights and music and her rival classmate dancing the lead role she so desperately wanted. She hadn’t even come close to bagging that role this time. She'd been told that upfront.

_“Félicie, I’m sorry, but you’re just not right for this role...”_  
_“Well, what is right then?”_  
_“My dear, calm down-“_  
_“No! You say that every time I audition, “you’re not right for this, you’re not what I want”... but what do you want anyway? Maybe if you told me I could be what you want!”_  
_“There’s no need to shout-“_  
_“Is it because you’re my dad or something? Is that why?”_

He had no response.

Félicie huffed, releasing the tension she’d been holding in her back and shoulders, daring to glance over at the stage and feeling a sharp, agonising pang in her chest as she watched Camille perform as the star of the show, pointe perfect and beaming brightly. Once upon a time she was told the blonde would never outshine her, that she’d never succeed due to a lack of passion and love. Yet here they were. Camille bounding ahead in her career, and Félicie languishing in the corps. She was a nobody. A no-name.

She wanted more.


	2. A Mother's Disapproval

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh yeah, you _knew_ there was gonna be light Méradette in this

"Have you something on your mind, dear?"

Odette released her tight bun with one swift yet aggressive motion, ruffling her hair loose till it fell down her back like a silky cloak. "What makes you say that?"

Mérante quirked an eyebrow before turning his attention to the pad of music he was trying to finish. "Just a vibe I've been getting all day."

She sat down, sighing out what could only be described as a day’s worth of frustration, and rubbed the bridge of her nose. And here she was thinking her mood had been subtle. "Is it that obvious?"

"Quite."

Leaning into her pillow, Odette felt her shoulders sag. It was funny how the events of the day could make her feel so... heavy. "I take it you've heard Félicie's latest ambition?"  
"Ah yes. To become the best dancer at the Moulin Rouge...!" He puffed his chest dramatically as he spoke. "Or another bar like that, I forgot which one exactly. Dear God, I swear she has about ten dreams like that each week..." 

Odette folded her arms, duly recalling Félicie’s past dreams of wanting to be a circus performer, or a model in a magazine, or a lion tamer, or an acrobat...

Or the best ballet dancer Paris had ever seen. 

"I told her I didn't want her to do it. Not after all the hassle she put us through with ballet." She wrinkled her nose, her mind drifting back to the bitter words she and the girl had slung at each other earlier on. Perhaps she’d overstepped her mark, said a few things better left unsaid, or worded a few things too harshly. But she didn’t care much. “Needless to say I’m not in her good books at the minute.” 

He raised his eyebrows again, still focussing on his unfinished music, wondering whether a higher or lower note would be better. “Can’t imagine why...” 

Odette scowled at his quip. “Well, what would you do then?”

Deciding to give his rather strained eyes a rest (and to direct his waning attention to the impending argument with his wife), Mérante lowered his sheets to his lap. “Well, I wouldn’t try and stop her for a start...”

Of all the people Odette had expected to sympathise with Félicie’s latest “dream,” Mérante was certainly the last. That, and she’d also been hoping he’d agree that Félicie’s new ambition was just a flash-in-the-pan infatuation, and that he’d convince her to return to ballet as soon as possible. “Wouldn’t try and- have you _seen_ those dancers, Louis?”

"I’ve heard of them-"

"Flashing their panties like it's nobody's business...! Could you imagine it? Félicie, _our_ Félicie, as one of _them_?"

"Not quite-" 

“Then why would you want her to do it?”

“I didn’t say I wanted her to do it, I just said I wouldn’t stop her...”

Odette stared hard. _"Explain."_


	3. "Why did you choose ballet?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a long chapter here heh. But one of my favourite pieces so far, if I'm honest

“One more time.”

“You said that last time!” 

“Yes, because I thought you’d get it right. But you didn’t. So try again.”

Félicie panted heavily, awkwardly swaying to her feet and using the barre as a crutch to stop herself from keeling over. “At least... at least let me catch my breath first.” Let her catch her breath, let her thundering heart rate slow down till she couldn’t hear it in her ears, let her limbs stop trembling... 

“You know there is no time for breath-catching during a performance, mam’selle...”

“Yeah. I know.” 

Mérante smiled sympathetically, his eyebrows creasing in concern at Félicie’s uncharacteristically bitter tone. “Is something bothering you, my dear? You seem rather down.” Not that he needed to ask. He’d noticed before how distracted and absent she was during each of their recent practice sessions, and at first he’d put it down to how he’d had to take over Félicie’s private training now that Odette was so busy running private classes. But even _she_ had noticed the change in the girl’s attitude, apparently having trouble trying to convince her into practicing without her storming off to rest.

Félicie directed her eyes at the floor, keeping her head bowed and tense. “Kinda.”

“Would you like to talk about it?”

She rubbed her arm. “I just... I don’t feel as though I’m enjoying dancing as much as I used to...”

“I could have told you that myself.”

“But... For so many years I thought this was it, yanno? My calling in life. I thought I would be dancing forever but now... when I tie my shoes I just think of the pain I’ll be in afterwards, and how tired I’ll be, and how miserable it makes me feel knowing I’ll have to do it all again tomorrow.” She rubbed her eyes wearily, swallowing thickly. “And it’s way more strict than I thought it would be. I don’t want to constantly have to pay attention to what angles my feet are at, where my arms are, all that stuff I always mess up.” The rigidity was what had caught her off guard the most. How her legs and arms always had to be in a certain position at any given time, how every move and motion had to be executed in a specific way, leaving almost no room for her to dance as she pleased. It constricted her like ivy, restricting the “expressiveness” she’d been told she’d succeed with, leaving her confused and defeated as she watched other girls from her class charge ahead into the spotlight whilst she lagged behind. 

She sighed, almost falling to her knees in defeat. “I used to think this was my dream but... now I’m not so sure.”

“You were very young when you told me this was your dream, Félicie. Just because this was your dream when you were eleven, it doesn’t mean it still is.”

“I know but...” She finally sat down on her knees, tucking her legs under her cloud-like skirt. “It was easier when I was eleven. I just... remember when Odette told me that I had passion and dedication, and how it’d help me beat Camille that one time, and I couldn’t even do that...” 

Mérante crouched down onto his knees, meeting Félicie on her level. “To be fair, you were ill that morning my dear.” 

“I know, but like... I was so convinced she was right and that my passion would always pull me through and that I’d be dancing forever but... was she right?” Odette had made it seem like she was right after all. But there were only so many passion-based speeches Félicie could listen to before she started to doubt what she was hearing.

“About the importance of passion? She was. But she forgot to mention another crucial ingredient to success.”

“And what would that be?”

“Willpower. Something which I’m sure you’ll find Camille has in _buckets_.” He smiled sadly. “Passion can only get you so far in this profession. You also need a lot of grit, determination and cold hard work.” 

“I can tell...” Why hadn’t Odette told her that when she was just starting out? If she had, maybe she wouldn’t be in this predicament now. Why did she have to sugarcoat everything with “passion” and “dreams” and not mention anything she might struggle with...? 

Reading the girl’s mood, Mérante placed his hand on her shoulder, prompting her to look up. “Let me ask you something. Why-”

“If you say “why do you dance”, I’m gonna kick you.”

“No, no. Why did you choose ballet? Out of all the dancing styles out there, what made you pick ballet in particular?”

“Uh....” Félicie flopped backwards so she was sitting rather than kneeling, her face scrunched up in thought as she tried to think of a reasonable answer. “Well... my mom danced ballet? So I followed her footsteps...?” No, that didn’t sound right. “No, uh, because I... thought it was really pretty...?” That sounded far too weak for her liking. “I picked it because...”

“Take your time Félicie...”

“I am!” She slumped over, not really caring if she was scolded for her poor posture. “I just... I don’t know, okay? I don’t have a proper deep answer about my mom or my past or my dreams or any of that!” Bitter tears leaked from her eyes as her voice hit a crescendo, and she palmed them away furiously. Thankfully, Mérante seemed unaffected by her sudden onslaught of frustration, and he stayed still and silent, though his dark eyes seemed to bore into her.

Félicie pulled her legs up to her chest, making sure her mouth would be muffled against her arm. Her true reason was pitiful, especially in comparison to the responses her teacher was no doubt used to. But she wasn’t going to bother constructing a lie just to impress someone she knew would see straight through her. 

Her voice dropped from its former roar to a mumble. “I literally only chose ballet because I spied on Madame Mauri the night I got here. That’s why I wanted to learn it.” 

“I know.” 

A dirty scowl was thrown in Mérante’s direction, hardening at his sloped-browed, knowing expression. “Well, why are you asking me then?”

He crouched down to her level. “Well, think carefully about this. What kind of dancing did you enjoy before you came to Paris? Was it anything like ballet?”

“No, it was... mostly folk dancing. Traditional Breton stuff, y’know? Like what I do at the bar.” 

“It’s quite the transition to go from that to ballet, don’t you think?” Félicie frowned, and then reluctantly nodded as she realised he was annoyingly right. “Would you say you prefer dancing in the bar to dancing ballet?”

Félicie seemed caught off guard, her legs unfolding and flopping out straight in front of her. Granted, she did enjoy performing at the bar a lot. But did she prefer it to ballet? “I’m... not sure. I haven’t been there in a while.”

“Well, how about I take you tonight? Or better yet...” He stood up, gesturing grandly with his arms. “How about you dance for me now?”

She rolled her eyes. “I’ve been dancing for you all evening.” And she was still tired, despite her impromptu rest. 

“I meant Breton dancing, my dear. Forget everything you’ve been trained to do, and dance exactly how you used to before you came to Paris!”

“Before I came to Paris...” She copied his words under her breath and pushed herself up, fluffing up her practice skirt. If she were honest, she could barely remember how she danced before being stifled into the Opera’s rigid standards. Even in her few trips to the bar, she could feel her dancing body quietly obeying the rules drilled into her from day one. “Promise you won’t be too critical?”

“I promise.” Mérante lay his hand on his heart, his smile warm and sincere, before turning and striding over to his rather neglected looking piano. “Would you like some music? Though, I’m afraid I don’t have a violin handy.”

“It’s fine.” She smiled, seeming rather eager until the creak of the piano lid being opened made her wince. “And yeah, some music would be great. You know any Breton songs?”

“My dear, I wrote an entire ballet set in Brittany. Though I do hope my take is what you were used to.” Mérante cracked his knuckles, arranging them as he remembered, praying to God he still had the dexterity he used to. His once beloved piano didn’t fall into this sorry state overnight, after all. 

“I’m sure it’ll be fine.” She was bouncing with excitement now, and as the piano music started up she found her foot tapping and head bobbing as she found a natural rhythm and tempo to dance to.  
______________________________________

“So how was that, my dear?”

Félicie couldn’t hide her grin as she straightened up, tidying her hair out of her face. Her heart still raced and her breathing was still heavy, but everything within her ached to continue dancing until she passed out. “That was...”

Mérante closed his piano, turning to face his student with his own smile. It had been a while since he’d seen such a deliriously happy dancer (who wasn’t Madame Mauri), after all. “Your face tells me everything I need to know.”

Still giddy from her sudden burst of dancing passion, Félicie seemed almost dazed as she thought of something to say so the room wouldn’t be in silence. “It’s strange. I’d forgotten how fun dancing could be until now.” 

“You just needed a reminder my dear.” He stood up, offering her his hand so she could steady herself, and she leaned on him in an almost drunken fashion before she gathered herself into a more ladylike stance. He coughed, catching her attention. “May I ask another question?”

“As long as it has nothing to do with why I dance, then shoot.”

“Do you want to keep dancing ballet, after that?”

Her expression fell from elation to thought, then to hidden disdain. Or not so much hidden as barely obvious. She’d never been one to hide her emotions after all.

Mérante smiled sadly. “You don’t, do you?”

“I just... I think I know why, at least.”

“Well, do tell!”

“I... like the freedom. Like, I can dance however I want, and... I just feel like I can... I dunno, express myself more? Does that make sense?” He gave a single nod, and she continued. “With ballet I just feel restricted. Like I’m only allowed to dance the steps you tell me to, or to act a certain way, even if I don’t think the steps match up. I just feel like I can’t dance to my true potential...” 

“I see...” He stroked his beard, trying to decide whether he should make his advice blunt or soft. “I... really only have one suggestion for you then.”

“Go for it.”

“Give up ballet.”

Her head shot up, eyes wide and trembling. “Give it up? But...”

“You aren’t enjoying it, my dear...”

“But I can’t give it up! I just...” Tears started to slip from her eyes as she worked herself into a fluster. “I owe so much to ballet. Without ballet, I never would’ve come to the Opera House, and I never would have met Odette, or you for that matter...”

“That’s true.”

“And it’s been such a big part of my life for so long and I’m... I’m sure if I just keep dancing I’ll enjoy it again, and...” She sniffed, using her wrist to dry her nose. Even if she was going through a rough patch in her relationship with ballet now, it would smooth itself out, right? That’s what happened with Camille, after all. _She used to hate ballet, and look at her now!_ “I can’t give it up. I want this as my life.” 

“Ballet... or dancing in general?”

Félicie swallowed her tears, furrowing her brows in curiosity. “What do you mean?”

“Ballet isn’t the only style of dancing you can make a career out of, Félicie. There are many others out there, especially here in Paris.” He probably should have been ashamed he knew that, as a gentleman of semi high-society. But he also worked with in ballet, which was arguably more seedy that any cabaret. At least cabarets were honest in their shadiness.

Félicie blinked, her breathing still shaky yet the tears were gone from her eyes and replaced with bright curiosity. “What types of dancing?” 

Mérante pursed his lips. Did he tell her about the cabaret bars? It would be dishonest not to. “There are quite a few bars that look for dancers. Maybe you could even ask at your Breton bar if they’d hire you to dance certain evenings?”

“Maybe...” 

“I’ll tell you this; you don’t have to train with me tomorrow. I want you to go out, find a decently respectable bar you like, and ask them if they’d like to hire a dancer. Could you do that?”


	4. Finding a Bar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey look it's Table Boy  
> I mean Victor ( ͡° ᴥ ͡°)

_Find a bar._

Well she’d been to several bars, including her favourite Breton bar. None of them were looking for a dancer. Félicie was starting to wonder whether Mérante truly knew what he was talking about, telling her that there were plenty of other dancing jobs in Paris and to just go bar surfing to find one.

“You don’t know any more bars?” Félicie lagged several paces behind Victor, her feet aching from her rehearsal earlier and the hard uneven cobblestones she’d been traipsing over for the past three hours. Honestly at this point, she was tempted to turn around and head to the Breton bar for drinks and the odd chance she could convince them to hire an in-house dancer by dancing on the tables again.

“Unfortunately, no.” He swivelled around, walking backwards so he could talk to her. “Unless you’d rather go to a _really_ seedy bar...”

Félicie grimaced, imagining the reaction she’d get from her guardians. “I’d rather not.” 

“Then I got nothing.” He turned back to face the direction he was walking in. 

“Are there even any like... dancing bars you know of? Mérante mentioned-”

“Well...” He stopped and turned. “There is one bar...”   
_________________________________________________________________________________________  
“What... is this place?” 

“This...” Victor grinned mischievously, gesturing to the building in front of them with a grandiose sweep of his arm. “Is the Moulin Rouge.” 

Félicie stared up at the building with her mouth agape. “And they have dancing here?”

“Oh you bet they have dancing.” He was giddy with excitement now. “Dancing like you’ve never seen before!” 

“Well what are we waiting for?” She hated admitting that his enthusiasm was infectious as they hurried inside, hand in hand. 

“Just a quick warning, the police might try and raid this place later.” His emphasis on the word “might” gave away the fact the police would definitely be paying the bar a visit. He turned to face her again, sashaying backwards. “They say it’s too... risqué for people.” 

“Victor, how can dancing be risqué?”

“Oh you’ll see.”   
______________________________________________________________________________________  
Félicie had never seen dancing like this before.

It was electrifying, filling her with an energy that ballet had never been able to. Her mouth hung open, her eyes were wide, she swore every beat, every high kick synchronised perfectly with her pounding heart. The feeling racing through her was like the feeling she’d gotten when she first watched ballet, only much stronger, more intense. The in this theatre stage was far smaller than the one at the Opera, barely fitting the dozen or so dancers performing. And _all_ of them were in the spotlights. None were relegated to the shadows.

Félicie had never wanted to learn something so badly.

She almost jumped back in shock when Victor’s hand waved in front of her, dragging her out of her cabaret-induced trance. “So whaddya think?” 

The music meant he had to lean right in against her ear for her to hear him, and even then it took several attempts for her to finally hear him. “Oh! I-”

A loud commotion from the back interrupted her, and the pair spun round to see a massive kerfuffle at the entrance. Félicie quite catch Victor saying “Police” right into her ear, before he grabbed her wrist and barrelled into the shadows without looking back nor paying attention to the people he was shoving his way past. 

She nearly tripped over her own ankles as she was bundled through a side door and into an alleyway that smelt strongly of stale alcohol and stagnant gutters. She gagged, burying her nose in her sleeve, and watching her breathless companion stumble after her. “You couldn’t have picked a better alley to throw me into, now?”

“Trust me, they all smell like this.” Victor stretched up, his back cracking with a loud click. “It’s a bar thing I guess.”

“You come to a lot of these bars then?” Though Félicie felt as though she didn’t even need to ask. Of course he went to a lot more bars than she ever would, he was a boy, and boys spent a lot of time in bars and cabarets. That, and he didn’t need to worry about curfew as much as she did. 

“Ha! I work here. But that’s not important.” He leaned against the wall, flashing a giddy and knowing grin. “What didya think of that?”

A lopsided smile pulled at Félicie’s lips, eventually widening into a grin as wide as Victor’s. “I... I think I want to dance like that now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mean I can't be the only one who could easily see Victor working in a bar right?  
> Right?


	5. Defeated

“ _You_ told her to go to a bar...?”

“Now, in my defence Odette, I didn’t tell her to go to a cabaret bar. If anything I wanted her to go to that Breton bar as much as you did.”

“I don’t want her in any bar, thank you very much!”

“But what’s the alternative? Have her stop dancing for good? Or continue dancing at the Opera because she has no other option?” 

Odette scowled before huffing, her shoulders hunching up as she sunk down. “I don’t know what happened to her. How she went from... _stealing_ from other children just to get into a good class to _this_.”

“She didn’t really know what she was getting herself into, I don’t think.” If his conversation with Félicie from earlier was anything to go by, she seemed to have fallen for ballet on looks alone without putting any thought into how strenuous and _painful_ it could be. It was unfortunately common, of course; even before he started teaching he knew of girls who had stopped (or been thrown out, he gingerly recalled) because they’d underestimated the agony they’d be in even after the most routine pointe exercise. “I’m surprised she lasted this long, if I’m honest. Given her, _ahem_ , debut in my class.”

The sigh that left Odette was more akin to that of a Spanish bull than a frustrated Parisian lady. “Maybe I should have told her. I probably shouldn’t have encouraged it anyway.” After all, she knew of the pain of performing, the stress of rehearsal, the late nights spent so hungry it hurt, and yet she _still_ agreed to train the girl, despite knowing it would cost her her job. 

“Perhaps. Though she’s had a good run with it, don’t you think?” 

“After all I did for her, I would prefer her “run” to be a marathon.” Her voice dropped to a sickly growl. “I gave up my job so that girl could dance, Louis. I gave up my flat, I gave up my wages... I gave that girl my shoes. You know my red shoes?”

His face froze. Of course he knew them. Those shoes were the only real relic from her past she’d kept, aside from a few mildew-ridden programmes that languished between the gilded pages of her Bible. “You didn’t.”

“She... hasn’t worn them but...” She sniffed fiercely, wiping her eyes and keeping them adamantly open to dry out any tears that dared leak. “It hurts. It hurts to see someone of her calibre just... give up. I’d give anything to... to...”

“I know.” With a gentle sigh, he pulled Odette close, leaning her head against his shoulder as she slumped in frustrated defeat. “I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is long as shit btw


	6. Confrontation and Finalé

“Félicie?”

The girl’s head whipped round at the voice, her face falling from mild curiosity to coldness as she realised who’d just entered, before she returned her attention to the window. “What?”

Odette carefully closed the classroom door behind her, her limp a lot more heavy and pained than usual. She didn’t really want to confront Félicie alone, and honestly had considered postponing this conversation until Mérante was finished with work to offer emotional support.... or act as a referee if their talk got too heated. But she decided she needed to face the music herself. That and, knowing Félicie, there was a good chance she’d disappear off to God-knows-where before Mérante finished. “I know you probably don’t want to speak to me...”

Félicie stretched her leg out along the barre, pretending to train. “Not really.”

Odette cough-sighed, straightening her back till she reached her full height and steeling herself against Félicie’s no doubt snarky, teenaged attitude. “I spoke with Mérante last night...”

“So what?”

 _This was going to be tricky._ “He told me about your dancing, and-”

“And I already told you; I’m taking up cabaret. You can’t stop me.”

A scolding about interrupting someone when they were talking was held back as Odette bit her lip and tried to keep a scowl off her face. “No, he told me about your ballet. How you want to give up.”

“Yeah, I wanna give up so I can do cabaret. That’s it.” Félicie absently lifted her leg into an arabesque, knowing full well her posture was poor and her technique a mess but being past the point of giving a damn. She was “expressing herself” by being awful. It was just unfortunate that ballet rules didn’t like her doing that.

“But why-”

Félicie slammed her leg down and turned abruptly, her face fierce. “Oh, why do I need a reason? You pestered me enough when I was little, all that “why do you dance, why do you dance”... Did I even _need_ a reason in the end? I danced because I wanted to dance. That’s why. And that’s why I’m choosing cabaret. Because I want to do it. What? You want a better reason?” She squared up. “Well guess what? I don’t have one.”

Odette inhaled, holding her breath for a moment to gather her composure. Hold your ground. Don’t let her get to you. “I was going to ask why you don’t like ballet anymore.”

Félicie’s face scrunched up almost comically at the notion of having to think about her answer, and further still about how to word it logically. “I’m bored with it. I want something more from dancing: it’s too strict, it’s boring, it’s painful, I can’t express myself enough, I just... I just don’t like it anymore. That’s why. You happy now? You gonna leave me alone?”

Those were more reasons than either of them were expecting, and they stared at each other in silence; Odette taken aback at the slew of answers Félicie just threw at her, and Félicie in shock at just how quickly she’d been able to string an answer together. Seems like she had more issues with ballet than she’d initially thought. 

Félicie deflated at Odette’s trained, blank expression; guessing that she may have overstepped the mark in her ranting. “Sorry, mom...”

Odette’s right eyebrow arched at the use of “mom”; something Félicie only ever called her when she was upset or vying for affection, or both in this case. Félicie continued: “Look, I know you don’t want me to go through with this-”

“I don’t.” Odette realised she’d interrupted. “Carry on.”

“But I know I have to do this. With ballet I’ll just... waste away, no longer enjoying dancing, and...” Her last reason was far from noble, but she had to say it. “I don’t wanna be in the corps any more. I know you told me I had to be patient and to wait for a lead role and all that but I just can’t be patient any more. I’m tired of waiting. I wanna be in the spotlight and I wanna be in it _now_.”

“You won’t immediately be in the spotlight with cabaret, you do know that?” Odette’s stern tone was offset by the sympathy that snuck in. Félicie’s naivety had always been present, always somewhat endearing, even if it did lend to her misjudging situations such as this. 

“Yes I will be! The stage is so small you’ll always get noticed, no matter where you are!” And that was all part of the appeal. Dancing, of course, was the real draw for her; the chance to fully express herself and unleash her energy without some pesky instructor nagging her about how her leg was too high, or her foot wasn’t turned properly. But the spotlight drew her in too; the notion of being the centre of attention, or being close to it... that’s what had driven her to run away to Paris in the first place.

Odette grimaced at the realisation that Félicie had probably been to a cabaret one too many times for her liking, and pushed it firmly to the back of her mind. “Can you not wait a little more with ballet? I’m sure if you hold out just a little longer-”

“But I don’t want to hold out any longer.” She groaned in frustration, head bending the full way back and her hands running roughly up her face and into her hair, making a mess out of her bun. “Why can’t you just see that?”

“Because I don’t want to.” 

The silence that fell between them was quiet enough for Félicie to hear her agitated heart pounding in her chest, and for Odette to hear her teeth gritting as her jaw clenched. Perhaps she shouldn’t have been so blunt with that answer. Perhaps she should’ve held back and thought of a different response. 

But a different response would mean lying. And she hated lying.

After a lengthy and unpleasant silence, Odette sighed, firmly rubbing the bridge of her nose. “I don’t... I don’t want you to leave ballet. It’s as simple as that.” 

_Simple... or selfish?_ Odette shoved that thought away. It wasn’t selfish. It was what was best for Félicie. Not that a career as a ballerina was any more noble than being a cabaret dancer, but Odette had at least been able to protect the girl from the seedier aspect to dancing. And she knew she couldn’t do that if she changed theatres. The sooner Félicie realised that the better.

“After everything we did to keep you in that class, Félicie, the least you can do is stick it out. I gave up my flat, lived in an attic, lived on barely enough money for just myself let alone both of us...” The girl opened her mouth to interject but was swiftly cut off. It was frustrating enough that Félicie didn’t understand her sacrifices back when she was a child, but now as a borderline adult who still somehow didn’t realise just how much Odette had given up to help her achieve her “dream”... no, she wasn’t going to let her interrupt. “Mérante could have lost his job keeping you in that class when we found out you’d lied your way in-”

“Yeah, and he only kept me in because of you.” Not even Odette’s harshest glare could interrupt her. “He always wanted to kick me out of that class, because I’m such a terrible and ungraceful dancer, isn’t that right? Didn’t you say I used to dance like an elephant?”

“Used to, not anymore-”

“Well then why haven’t I been offered a lead role?” Her voice was building in volume. Félicie didn’t care. “You always told me that I had “passion” and that it would always help me succeed, but guess what? You were wrong. Because there’s way more that I’m obviously missing and nobody’s bothered to tell me about it!”

“But I did tell you, you just didn’t listen. I told you that, you needed to practice more, put more effort into it-”

“But I do! I train every single day till I can’t feel my legs but somehow that isn’t enough!”

“Well work harder then!” 

Félicie groaned loudly. “ _God_ , you sound like Camille’s mom.”

“ _Excuse_ me?”

“Yeah, you heard me. You sound exactly like her. That’s the kind of stuff she tells Camille, you know.” She put on a high, mocking voice. “You don’t work hard enough! Twelve hours is nowhere near enough practice! I don’t care if your legs are broken, you just need to work harder! You’re a disgrace! I don’t care if you don’t want to dance, because I want you to, to achieve my failed dreams!”

And there was the crescendo she’d been building to. Félicie duly noted how Odette’s eyes briefly flashed hurt before settling back to same trained, unimpressed glare she’d been giving her since she came in. Shame, she wanted a bigger reaction. 

“I want you to dance ballet because I can watch over you there.” Odette’s voice was careful and deliberate, restraining her struck nerve masterfully. “Which I can’t do if you move to a cabaret theatre.”

“Is this about the whole prostitution thing?” The wording made Odette wince. “You do know I can take care of myself, right? I’ve done it long enough.” She’d had to avoid the hungry eyes of the theatre’s patrons many a time by herself, often finding they’d leave her alone after she met up with Mérante post-performance. Of course, she wouldn’t have Mérante with her at the cabaret. But she’d at least have Victor, who’d offered to be her chaperone for each dance. That, and he clearly knew far more about the ins and outs of the Moulin Rouge, from its side exits to claiming to have connections with the owner. He wouldn’t be the perfect replacement for Mérante, but he’d be an effective one. 

Odette gathered her thoughts. “I know you can-”

“Well, why are you worrying then?”

Admittedly, Odette wasn’t even as worried as she made out to be. She knew Félicie would find a way to handle herself in such situations, knew she’d always bring a male companion or two to help ward off any unwanted attention. The girl knew what her mother had been like after all, and didn’t want history to repeat itself. 

Maybe a different approach would be better. “What if you don’t enjoy it? The Opera isn’t kind to defectors, even ones with parents in high places.” She arched her eyebrows.

I know I’ll enjoy it though. I’ve never felt a connection to a type of dance before. Even just watching it I felt... it felt amazing, Odette. I know I want this.” 

Her pleading tone almost convinced Odette that cabaret was her new dream, and that she would stay with it until she was old and stiff and could dance no more. Almost. “You said the exact same thing about ballet too, Félicie.”

“I promise you, this isn’t just lip service like it was last time.” At least she admitted to her many speeches about her “passion” for ballet were just for show. Or maybe she had genuinely thought it was her life dream. She had been quite young back then after all. “Just please, let me do this.”

Odette didn’t want to admit that she felt defeated, having played her best cards to no avail. Félicie’s mind was set, it was clear as day. And it _hurt._

She let out a weary sigh, dropping her tight posture for a split second. “I suppose I just don’t like seeing such talent go to waste.”

“Whaddya mean?”

“You were a ballet prodigy, Félicie. You learnt far quicker than I ever thought you would, you never really complained about pain or tiredness, you were awake on time and ready for training...” Odette could feel herself smiling at those memories. It had been so much easier then, back when Félicie was still smitten with ballet and determined to get the next lead role that cropped up, diligently training for every audition after that night. 

She supposed that could have been a warning sign: how Félicie always seemed fixated on lead roles and nothing else. But it never struck Odette as odd. A lot of girls locked their sights on the prima’s spot, the slight chance that one day their name would be on the promotional posters. So she let it slip, hoping that some day she’d either snare a headline role or accept her fate as a coryphée.

“I don’t like seeing dancers of your calibre give up. Not when you’ve put so many years into it.”

Félicie rolled her eyes. “Five years is hardly that long.” It didn’t feel that long to her at least, even though when she looked back on what had happened since then, and how much she’d grown and matured, it seemed far longer than five years. “Alright, fine. It kinda is.” 

“It’s a long time to keep at something only to give up. Usually people lose interest far sooner.” Indeed, she could remember her colleagues who’d voluntarily given up ballet had done so after a few months, or a year at most. None of them had hung around for five years before deciding it wasn’t for them.

“I suppose so...” Félicie could vaguely remember a few of her classmates who’d baulked from ballet when they’d discovered what lay behind the Opera’s glittering façade, or moved to countries and companies where dancers weren’t just seen as glorified prostitutes. Not that she’d ever had to worry about that, with her father figure being the head of the ballet department. 

With a long sigh and an ungraceful sigh, Félicie’s fight seemed to fade out of her. “Y’know, I knew giving up ballet would be hard. I just never really wanted to think about it.” 

“If I’m honest, I didn’t think you’d stay with it forever.” Odette smiled sadly, sighing deeply. “But I wanted to believe you would. I gave up too much to see you stop.” 

Félicie seemed to have an epiphany as Odette’s point (which had been made earlier, she duly remembered) finally sunk in. As a child, it never struck her just how much Odette had given up to help her pursue her then “dream”, and she didn’t know why it had taken her so long to realise it. She didn’t even want to _know_ whether the Opera academy had training fees, and how those had been paid. If they’d been paid at all; she had a sickly feeling deep down that maybe Mérante had pulled more than just a few strings to keep her in his class. 

“I’m sorry. For all that hassle I caused back when I was starting,” she eventually said, flashing eye contact with Odette for a fleeting moment. “But my mind is made up. I’m leaving ballet.” And there’s nothing you can do to stop me, she added in her head, grimacing at how bitter her internal voice sounded.

“I know.” Odette took a step closer, the first she’d taken since she came into the room, she noted. “I just wanted to judge whether you were making the right choice or not.”

“And am I?”

With a defeated sigh, Odette finally mustered a smile. “I think you are.”

Félicie’s eyes shot up, bright with surprise. She hadn’t been expecting that response at all. “Really...?”

Her stunned tone gained an eye roll as a response. “Yes, really.” And Félicie still looked bemused. Obviously she’d been expecting a long lecture on how she was making the wrong decision, or how disappointed Odette was, or how she disapproved and wanted her to stick with ballet. 

“You’ve grown out of ballet, in a way. That’s what it sounded like when I spoke to Mérante last night. And though I don’t want you to stop, I know you need to take this step.” Her head bowed in surrender. “And I suppose... as your... whatever I am to you, then the least I can do is support you.”

For the first time that afternoon, Félicie felt speechless. She’d been expecting the argument to drag on, for the gripes to last years, for them to never see eye-to-eye on this subject. And deep down, she could sense that Odette would never truly approve, and would wait with bated breath for the day she finally came to her and told her she was done with cabaret. But she hadn’t for a moment expected Odette to accept her choice.

“Mérante and I will do whatever we can to get you accepted back into the Opera if you ever want to leave the cabaret.” Félicie looked up at Odette, who took another hesitant step forward, her cane wobbling slightly under her weight. “Even though I know you... don’t intend on returning.”

“Not really.” The laugh that left Félicie was weak and half-hearted, and she swallowed and licked her lips, realising how dry they felt. “I... didn’t think you’d let me do it. Like... I thought this would be something we’d never agree on.” Another melancholy laugh. “I even had my future arguments written up in my diary.”

They both laughed, though it petered out quickly. With a heavy sigh, Félicie finally gave in and threw herself into an apologetic hug, almost tackling Odette off-balance until she was stabilised by the girl’s tight embrace, and she could drop her cane to stroke the back of her former students head. 

“Thank you.” She swallowed. “Mom...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I legit kept forgetting to upload this tbh. Idk I just haven't had any motivation to keep posting, what with the lack of reads and constructive comments. I just feel like nobody was interested in this one pfft  
> But anyways. Here it is. The final chapter.


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